


International Herzog Week

by amberofembers



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberofembers/pseuds/amberofembers
Summary: Andrew being Andrew but this time he has someone to talk about his weird ideas to.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s), Andrew Hozier-Byrne/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	International Herzog Week

**Author's Note:**

> of course i had to mark herzog week with a dumb fic. you can find me on tumblr at amberofembers :)

It was the third week of lockdown, or maybe even the fourth – it was hard to keep track of anything related to time nowadays. The days were becoming less discernible and everything seemed to still. The birds still chirped at daybreak but there was a certain quiet that filled the air.

It wasn't all that different from the previous few months and by this time, you had fallen into a comfortable routine at home. The gradual crescendo of your alarm pulled you from the depths of sleep. Unlike most mornings, the sound wasn't jarring but felt more like a gentle tap on the shoulder signalling the start of the day. As you stretched your legs, the duvet crinkled along with your movement and a quiet grumble was heard on your left. Blinking in the sunlight, you turned to face Andrew, whose brows were set in a slight frown as he stirred awake.

"Morning, you," you said softly, your voice raspy from sleep.

No reply was heard from him, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he placed his hand over yours underneath the duvet.

You had gone to bed without him last night, knowing his tendencies to stay up late. He had no fixed schedule to follow and, unsurprisingly, his sleep schedule was completely messed up. Seeing him awake before lunch would be a rare occurrence.

"What time did you go to bed last night?" you asked as you peeled yourself away from the warmth that you both had created under the duvet.

"Four"

"Oh god, your lifespan is steadily decreasing," you chuckled as you draped your legs over the side of the bed.

You padded over to his side of the bed, giving him a peck on the forehead. “You can go back to sleep, I gotta start work soon,” you said gently. He reached out to grasp the hand that hung loosely by your side and his eyes opened to a sliver, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Morning, love," he said, voice only slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah, morning," you let out a quiet laugh, "go back to sleep,"

“Stay here,” he whined, tugging your hand.

“You know I’d love to,” you huffed, “you’re just rubbing it in now”

You shook his hand off yours in mock anger, letting his hand fall from your grip down to the side of the bed. “Babe…” he pouted. You picked his hand up, giving it a soft kiss before placing it on his chest, “Work awaits, my love.”

As you headed towards the bathroom to freshen up for the day, you peered back into the bedroom. Andrew had rolled himself up in the duvet on your side of the bed, his feet sticking out slightly. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing his hair messily splayed over his face and the pillow - How lucky you were to be waking up to this every morning.

* * *

You chose to set up your workstation on the large wooden table in the dining room. There was a study in the house, but the gentle morning light that entered through the big glass windows of the dining room gave it a warmth that was irresistible. Preoccupied with replying and sending out emails and with a few zoom meetings here and there, the morning passed quickly. The initially steaming mug of coffee you placed beside your laptop had gone cold, you realized as you absentmindedly took a sip from it.

“Morning... again” You heard Andrew call out.

You looked up from your laptop, then back at the time displayed at the corner of the screen – 1 pm. “Good afternoon to you too,” you said, shaking your head.

His hair was tied loosely in a bun and his glasses were set slightly crooked on his face. He wore a grey sweater that barely covered his torso and a sleepy smile.

“Time doesn't mean anything anymore,” He yawned as he strolled over to where you sat, threading his hand through your hair. You paused your typing, glancing up at him smiling, “imagine if my camera was on.”

His eyes widened comically as he jerked out of frame, “Jesus, that would be awkward,”

You chuckled under your breath, gesturing towards the kitchen “There are some blueberries left, can you finish them before they go bad?”

He nodded in accordance and headed to the kitchen to fix up some food. With the weather deep in autumnal bliss, it was probably going to be another round of oatmeal.

Some clinking of spoons on bowls and kettle boiling sounds later, Andrew emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of oatmeal held in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

He placed them carefully on the table, plopping down opposite you. You reached over the table to pull the saucer below his cup over, taking a sip of the warm coffee. The bitter liquid felt rough on your tongue as it flowed down the back of your throat. Your nose scrunched up involuntarily.

“That’s what you get for stealing my coffee,” Andrew teased.

“I’ll never understand the voluntary torture of black coffee,” you grumbled, “at least it was warm.”

Andrew pulled the saucer back to his side of the table. A comfortable silence blanketed the dining room. The clicking of your keyboard and the sounds of his spoon hitting the bowl padded the silence while the muted rustling of dried leaves could be heard through the windows.

“Is there such thing as insanity among penguins…” A voice broke the silence.

You sat upright with confusion, looking over your computer screen at Andrew. He was staring intently at his phone, his brows furrowed with concentration.

The voice that came from his phone went on about insane penguins and something about their certain death. As you listened, you stifled in some laughter. _What was this video about?_ Andrew, on the other hand, seemed a little too invested. You watched in amusement as he replayed certain parts of the video.

“Bit morbid for a Monday morning,” you pointed out.

“It’s Herzog,” he said conclusively as he looked up from his phone

“Her who?”

“Herzog, he’s a German filmmaker.”

“Ah…” you nodded. You still had no idea who Herzog was.

“Look,” he thrusted his phone in your direction, leaving you to look at a lone penguin waddling away into the mountains.

“And here, he is heading off into the interior of the vast continent. With 5000 kilometers ahead of him, he’s heading towards certain death,” the narrator of the video concluded.

“Poor guy,” you said as you looked up at Andrew bemusedly.

“Poor lad indeed.” He sighed.

“Why are you watching a video about deranged penguins?” You chuckled.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “It popped up on youtube.”

“So this is why you sleep at 4 in the morning, huh…”

“No! I was watching American news and ehm… ” He trailed off, his eyes looking upwards in search for words, “...Working.”

“He was a good looking man, that Herzog,” He said as he turned his phone to you, showing you an old black and white photo of a mustached man. You gave him a murmur of assent.

“Thot… Hah!” he huffed a laugh. You stared at him quizzically.

He tried to stamp down his laugh, considering the calm of the afternoon but he was too pleased with his joke. “That… Herzog…. Over…” He struggled out between fits of laughter, “...There”

“Fuck, that was bad,” You offered him smile, “commendable attempt, though”

“No?” He tilted his head forward, looking the slightest bit affronted, “It’s so bad that it’s good, though...”

You shook your head. Andrew frequently made jokes that were questionable at best, and you’d give him shit for it usually, but the smile that was plastered across his face as he thought about his dumb joke was so endlessly warm that any snide remark you had disappeared immediately. His smile had a warmth that filled the room, one that danced over your skin and surrounded you in a tight embrace. You looked at him fondly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Oh my god, should I post it?” He said, his voice dripping in childlike glee. 

“No!” you exclaimed, “I swear to god, don't do it, Andrew”

He raised an eyebrow almost like he was challenging you. “I’m gonna post it”, he grinned. He tapped away on his phone, smiling to himself.

* * *

Andrew had finished his breakfast - or lunch - and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. He’d taken your empty cup as well, a sweet gesture you took a mental note of - _remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today._

As he left the table, you took the chance to check your phone. Scrolling through Instagram, you saw that he had posted a story.

“Jesus christ, Andrew...” you mumbled to yourself, maybe slightly too loudly because you heard him call out from the kitchen.

“It’s good, isn't it?”

“You posted the THOT thing _and_ 20 million videos about the penguins?”

“Yeah, it’s so cool!” He protested, popping his head out of the kitchen door, “and the joy of discovering insane penguins deserves to be shared!”

“Mmm… Morning affirmations with Herzog,” you said, fluttering your fingers.

His eyes widened in revelation, “That’s fucking gold. Hold on, I’ve gotta post that too.” He grabbed the hand towel as he dried his hands briskly.

“Oh no, what have I done...”

“You being a genius is what you’ve done” he looked at you endearingly as he snatched up his phone from the table, “Can I steal the morning affirmations line?”

“Go ahead,” you said, “it’s not _that_ funny though.”

“It’s brilliant,” he beamed, bending down to place a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Think I’m gonna be in the studio today, good luck with work, yeah?”

* * *

As the day went on, you busied yourself with more work. You would be lying if you said that you stopped to stretch periodically. It was more like forgetting that your body existed for an entire hour while typing in a hunched position until realizing that, wow, your neck _ached_. You looked at the time - 5 pm. As you rubbed your smarting eyes, you decided it was time for a break.

You noticed that Andrew hadn't emerged from the studio yet. He could spend hours on end in that room, either working on lyrics or fiddling with his guitars or humming along to the piano. The studio was one of your favorite places in the house because it felt so much like _him_. Notebooks scribbled with odds and ends of ideas strewn on the floor, the thermostat always set a bit warmer than the rest of the house, the sound of music and occasionally his voice filling the room as he tinkered around with ideas.

From time to time, the room would be livelier with musician friends coming over to work on material. You'd stay out of the studio when it got too crowded. Lately, since it’s been just the two of you, the studio started to feel like the most intimate place in the house.

_Remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today_ , the thought popped back into your mind.

Doting on each other wasn't a typical thing you two would do, it was more small gestures that showed you cared about each other. Those tiny gestures of affection were usually pleasant surprises and received with much tenderness. On one particularly bad workday, you remember how he wrote you a sweet letter and hid it underneath your pillow for you to find it the next morning. When you found the letter and thanked him for it, he blushed a deep red and hid his face behind a curtain of his hair, smiling sheepishly. _Thank god, I thought you were going to find that too cheesy_ , you remember him saying.

Since today was a studio day, you figured he could do with a warm cup of tea. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater down to your palm, you gave your limbs a much-needed stretch and shuffled to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of you.

Precariously balancing two steaming mugs in both your hands, you carefully walked to the studio, trying not to scald yourself with hot tea.

The door to the studio was ajar and through the gap, you could hear the faint strumming of a guitar float through the hallway leading to it.

“Can I come in?”

The guitar strums stopped as Andrew chirped, “Yeah, come in! I missed you.”

“I’m only 3 doors down, love,” you said as you pushed the door open with your foot.

“Yeah, but it’s too cold…” His eyes travelled to where you stood in the doorway.

“Tea?” The excitement was apparent in his voice.

You handed one mug to him, nodding, “careful, it’s hot.”

You headed to the small couch tucked into the corner of the studio and set your mug on the table next to it. A wool blanket was draped haphazardly over the couch so you balled it up, using it as a pillow of sorts. He placed his guitar on a rack nearby and stalked over to where you sat, tea mug held tightly in his hands. You shuffled to one side of the couch to give him some space but it still seemed like the couch was far too small for the both of you.

As he sat down, he leaned over and gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, muttering quietly into your hair, “Thank you for the tea, love. Sorry I didn't come out much, I’ve just been trying to hammer out this idea that’s been swimming in my head for far too long.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. Your hand reached out to his face that was placed near your shoulder, stroking his jaw with slow, hypnotic movements. He hummed softly, leaning into your touch.

“What was the idea about?”

“Herzog,” he stated plainly.

“I hate you, Andrew, I really do,” you said incredulously.

“You don't,” he grinned, “but anyway, it was just a riff that begged to be completed. I don't have lyrics yet.”

“About the Herzog thing, though…” He began, “People aren't getting it.” He seemed equal parts disappointed and humored.

“Of course they aren't!” You let out an amused laugh, “I think you should clear it up. Instagram really isn't fit for weird shit, maybe keep that to twitter.”

“I’m off twitter, though.”

“Suck it up, big man,” you teased.

“Okay fine, I’ll tweet about it,” he sulked, reluctantly unlocking his phone, “What do I even say?”

“Happy international Herzog week, folks!” you joked.

“You are _too_ good at this,” he turned his head to stare at you in awe.

“My god, please don't tell me you're using that too…” He stayed silent, reacting only with a sly smile.

“You’ll have to start crediting me for all those punchlines...” you hesitated, “actually, no, don't. They're not that good, it’s better if people think it’s you.”

He chuckled and gave your side a small shove, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“Can you italicize stuff on twitter?” He asked.

“No… Oh wow, you’re going all out, huh?”

“Only the best for your joke,” he said, giving you a playful wink.

You pulled yourself closer to him and draped your legs over his, his sweatpants folding underneath yours. The warmth of your bodies meeting gave you an immeasurable sense of comfort and security. One of his hands rested on your thigh while the other was used to type his _very complex_ tweet. As his eyes stayed fixed on his phone, his index finger absentmindedly drew circles on the fabric of your sweatpants. Melting into his gentle touch, you closed your eyes, making a mental note to maybe move your workstation to the studio instead.


End file.
